


Enansal

by Millennium_Fae



Series: Enansal [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Family, Gen, Kid Fic, Mpreg, Non-binary character, Other, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennium_Fae/pseuds/Millennium_Fae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A child is born from divinity. The world shakes to accommodate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> (Trigger warning: Pregnancy and childbirth. In this story, Solas is capable of delivery, and has given birth to a child.)

As Solas feels the weight of the infant in his arms, he is overcome. It is both joy and fear in equal measure. He feels a fierce devotion that empowers him, and a crippling anxiety for what is to come.

Still weak from the pain of birthing, his arms shake with exhaustion as he marvels at the fruit of his labor. One hand carefully cups their tiny head. The infant, mere minutes from birth, already has their eyes open in a swollen squint. They had just been cleaned of birth ichor and still retain the peach fuzz of infants straight from the womb. Solas rubs a finger against their soft skin, reveling in the comfort of baby-warm flesh.

“ _Ma Sulahn'nehn. Ma vhenan_ ,” He whispers, his voice thick with emotion. My happiness. My heart. “… I am so, so sorry.”

He cannot raise this child. He had sealed his fate centuries ago. He had willingly signed off any chance for happiness, if it meant he could achieve his goals instead. This child was nothing more than a hazy dream, a mere fantasy of love and peace that he never thought himself deserving. In rise of everything that has been sacrificed in his path, he would be a villain to forsake it all for a _family_.

But as he held his child for the first time, it felt as if the world had stopped turning, and that just for this moment, he could forget everything and just love with all his heart. 

The infant wriggled against the wrappings that bundled them tightly. They whimpered wetly as their cabbage-like face wrinkled in discomfort. Showing a secret mastery of handling babes, Solas carefully repositioned the infant so that they rested against the crook of his arm. He looked down at the tiny face.

The infant didn’t look like him at all, which was a bittersweet twist. Solas imagined that fate was designated to wipe all existence of himself once he was gone. At the same time, he was sadly satisfied that the child may never go down his same path. It was a journey he would wish on no one, least of all this perfect being. The only thing that he and they shared was a slight bush of curly red hair that would eventually darken into a dark auburn color.

Solas traced their fat cheeks, their tiny round nose, the bone of their eyebrow. He rested a finger against their tiny chest, which rose gently with every sweet breath. He could feel a heartbeat, strong and persistent, beat like music. He lowered his nose to the fat crook of their neck and breathed in their warm scent. The baby sighed and twitched weakly in response, one fist colliding with Solas’ cheek as it was flailed about. 

The world kept turning. Eventually, Solas knew that his time was up. With the weariness of centuries, Solas relinquished his child into a nearby basket and immediately regretted the lack of their warm weight. The infant seemed unperturbed and gazed fuzzily at the strange figure hovering over them. Unbeknownst to no one, the child saw not an old elf, but an ageless reflection of power from a forgotten world, surrounded by a somber, ashy halo.

The ancient figure murmured softly and caressed their face with his hand. A moment passed, and the figure straightened and left.


	2. Divine Creation

For the first two days of infancy, the baby wailed and starved in their basket. Solas had premeditatedly chosen to deliver within the safe confines of a secluded cabin, located a few miles off any settlement. The living couple - a human matron and an elven maiden - had left their hut a few days previous to tour the neighboring seaside shanty. Solas, knowing beforehand the tight schedule, lived in their vacant hut and waited for his child to be born.

One day, nearly a week since he had stolen himself in, Solas spotted a lone figure approaching the cottage as he weaved a straw basket on the front porch. Too late to scamper away, and too proud to hide, Solas narrowed his eyes and stood up straight-backed. If the figure knew the couple that owned the hut, then he’d risk his nursehouse, and be forced to find another location in a short amount of time.

His abnormally large belly would likewise garner suspicion, he assumed.

The figure drew closer to reveal a young, human boy around the cusp of manhood, with a pitiful strip of brown fuzz upon his upper lip. He wore sturdy traveling clothes and was armed with a clean dagger. Upon seeing the strange elf, he stopped abruptly in his tracks.

“Madam Gunther and Gunther?” he asked Solas, his eyes wide and wary.

“Out. I manage their affairs in their absence.”

“They’ve never left a hand before. You tend their bees?”

“I -” Solas hadn’t noticed any beehives near the hut, but he did recall seeing an abnormal amount of fat, fuzzy bees in the surrounding wildlife. He glanced over his shoulder at the woods that circled around the enclave, and realized that if any beehives were nearby, they’d probably be kept amongst the vegetation there.

But thinking quickly, he realized that the hut contained a lack of honey, beeswax, and other bee-related products or husbandry tools. Aside from a single jar of honey sitting in their pantry, nothing in the hut showed any sign that it was owned by beekeepers. If Solas admitted to being in the business of caring for bees, he’d be admitting to something that didn’t exist.

“I don’t know what you mean, young messere. I tend their house in lieu of predators. Last week, madam had to deal with a vicious badger that walked right in like it was nothing. With one badgers come more, and there goes with their larder. At least, if I had no say.”

The lie came smoothly and quickly, second to nature. The existing bee swarms did suggest that wildlife ran rampant in the area, and therefore it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that badgers and related threatened the sanctity of the cottage more than once.

The boy stared some more. Solas stared back. Eventually, he must have passed suspicion, because the boy gave a shrug and approached the small wooden steps that led to the porch. Solas tried to subtly tug his cloak closer together to hide his obvious pregnancy.

The boy reached into a leather back slung across his shoulders and pulled out a bundle of folded parchments tied together by twine. Solas took the bundle with a demure “Thanks”, acting every bit the unassuming elven help. “Come in, and I’ll serve tea.”

“Won’t say no to that,” the boy-courier said, and he followed Solas into the hut. As they stepped through the door, the boy eyed the half-finished basket on the ground. “Nice work there. Tight weave, like how my mother does her basketry. You making that for the madams?”

“No, that basket will be for my own needs.” Solas busied himself with the kettle and tea, trying to remember how to brew a descent pot. It’s not like he ever drank tea himself, so it might have been literal centuries since he’s dared try. “The madams only have me wave a broom at the odd wolverine or raccoon, which mostly make trouble during the night. So my days are uneventful.”

“Always thought the two were bit off, moving out here. Guess they make do.” Solas served a bit of bread with jam and butter, and the boy graciously took a serving. “They visit the town every now and again. I sometimes just miss them when I make my runs out here. Good move on their part, getting a hand,” he waved a slice of buttered bread at Solas from across the table, “otherwise, their letters would have to come back with me, and they’d have to wait until my next run.”

Solas made no comment as he poured them both a mug of strong, black tea. He kept his head bowed, his movements constrained and deliberate, mimicking the movements of servants throughout the centuries. To the human boy, he saw nothing more than a strange, bald elf. Just another knife-ear help, below suspicion.

After being fed and watered, the courier started his trek back home. Solas calmly returned to making his basket.

\---

Solas' eighth day was spent lying in slope of a grassy hill. With one hand, he softly caressed the bulge of his stomach. With the other, he waved dim ribbons of magical residue into existence. The slivers of energy were nonsensical emissions that quickly died once in the air. His hand twisted and flexed. One bright pink ribbon snaked out. Then a blue one. A yellow one. They floated a few inches above his face, and faded into nothingness.

As every ribbon dispelled, the air slightly palpitated from the sudden lack of magic, as if multiple tiny vacuums suddenly slammed into place. And from each vibration came a slight shift in Solas' belly. He could both feel and see the moving bulges of his child's tiny body as it reacted to their father's magic. To Solas, it was almost as if they danced to magic's mere existence.

Solas smiled. A private, sad thing. He continued to wave small magics into the air and feel his child squirm from within him. With divinity came the ability to create life, and Solas knew of those who wanted to awaken life from clay or rock. They'd spend years carving out physical perfection from marble, and introduce consciousness with a kiss upon the mouths of their creations, sparking life to a person crafted to be perfect. Others might engineer life from a cumulation of preexisting lifeforms, making an amalgamation of the most powerful beings in existence through alchemy in an effort to create the ultimate being.

But Solas himself was a creation, and his physical form was malleable to begin with. Creating a life within the confines of a womb just seemed much more practical - the growing creation is sealed in a sterile environment, conveniently attached to yourself for optimal protection. And as a young elf, he never had the motivation to chisel a lover from limestone, or sew together a new warhound. In his impulsive, lazy, brilliant mind, the younger Solas would much rather labor through pain than through genius.

The older, much less impulsive Solas stroked the peak of his stomach and watched as a small bulge zipped its way across the span of his belly. He softly placed a finger upon the moving bulge and felt it nudge against him. It was possibly a hand, perhaps an elbow. Solas gazed softly at his belly, savoring every moment of peace before it was too late.

\---

On the tenth day, the pains finally began. The first pang was nothing more than a slight soreness from deep within his enormous belly, felt minutes upon leaving the bed. Within an hour, the pangs turned to waves of discomfort, accompanied by an occasional odd trickle of clear fluid.

Solas calmly readied the bed with linens and pillows. He placed large bundles of cloth nearby, and lined the newly-made basket with soft furs. When his nursery was finally ready, the pains were growing in intensity with every contraction.

Five hours of hard labor, and the baby was born.

But he left the baby in the basket, and strove off into the night. The hut was left nearly the same state as it was before, sans the addition of a newborn infant. And after two days of neglect, the infant wailed death throes, which quickly caught the attention of the two returning women as they approached their hut.

Quick as instinct, Madam Gunther and her elven wife burst into their house and immediately spotted the foreign addition of a infant-laden basket sitting atop their bed. Lee, the younger woman, shushed and cuddled the starving thing, throwing a worried and bemused look at Madam Gunther.

“It must have been abandoned,” she guessed. “Somebody must have left this poor thing here, in hopes that it’d survive under the care of whomever lived in this house.”

Lee surveyed the infant’s face and stroked their dangerously pale skin. “Do we have any of that ox milk from this morning?”

“ ... Yes. Hang on, let me -” Gunther quickly rummaged through her knapsack and pulled out a glass bottle containing the tiniest gulp of milk. Lee took the corner of her silk scarf, dipped it into the milk, and held it out for the baby to suckle.

The two women held their breath as the baby briefly struggled with the makeshift teat. Eventually, their tiny mouth managed to close around the damp cloth, and mercifully drank the few drops of milk. Lee quickly reached out to reload the cloth with milk, and fed the baby all she could.

“I’ll boil some oats, and make grain broth. That’ll service as milk until next morning,” Gunther said. “Then, we’re both going to go into town, and see what we can do for this poor creature.”

“... or, we could raise them ourselves,” Lee quipped. Gunther threw a hard look. Lee raised her eyebrows.

“How about we try to keep them alive for tonight, and then think about future babying plans later?”

“Very well,” Lee gave a small smile, gazing down at the baby who clang desperately onto life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods being capable of a wide range of bodies is my THING.


	3. Gunther And Lee

After a stressful first couple of days, Madam Gunther and her wife Lee managed to drag the infant from the maws of death. Two days of neglect had left them starving and in malnutrition, and it was nothing short of a miracle that they pulled through. 

Gunther had made a panicked run to the nearest farmer and purchased three pints of milk, along with a large collection of washing linens to be made into napkins. Lee, meanwhile, struggled taking care of a crying, starving infant. Needless to say, her enthusiasm upon first impression wavered a tad bit.

Within three days, the baby’s pallor had improved, and their tiny body, once pitifully limp and wrinkled, ballooned into plumpness. They spent their days sleeping, and when they woke, they ate and defecated. Then they slept again. And woke. And for the first month, that was their life.

Gunther still insisted that she find a willing family to take in the infant. Although the couple had entertained the notion of raising children in the past, they were caught woefully unprepared for an actual child. “We live full miles from any settlement. What would we do if the child became ill, or injured?” She’d argued. “The neighboring wildlife is relatively unsuitable for two lone women, let alone two women with an infant. And when the child grows, they’ll want playmates. And other company. And schooling. And not to mention the expenses of raising children; would we be able to sustain them on our shaky budget?”

Lee shrugged nonchalantly as she held a glass bottle to the baby’s tiny mouth. “How hard can it be?”

“Hard enough that it could cost us our lives.” Gunther gave a gusty sigh and ran a hand through her frazzled hair. “It takes a village to raise a child, you ever hear that? Put it this way; a group of bandits show up on our doorstep. Or maybe an irate bear. In the past, the both of us would take up arms and defend ourselves. With an infant in the picture, one of us would be stuck holding the thing, while the other would be left to struggle alone. That in itself spells disaster to me.”

“I don’t know who _you’ve_ been married to for the past three years, but I for one don’t remember ever fighting on a battalion of bandits on our front lawn,” Lee smiled down at the baby as they gulped down the creamy milk. Soft, wet sounds filled the brief silence. “Or a bear, for that matter.”

“Never too late to worry,” Gunther slunk down upon a cushioned chair. She watched with soft eyes at her wife nursing the tiny bundle. The infant, once so dangerously spindly, had graciously regained the innocent energy of newborn life, and displayed so by blindly grasping at Lee’s arms with a surprisingly strong grip. Lee cooed lovingly at the movement.

Gunther let the comfortable silence have its brief run, then asked, “…. is it because it’s an elf?”

Lee’s smile abruptly vanished, and she threw a side-eyed glare at her human wife.

“I know you hated the Alienage. And never managed to find your way amongst the Dalish,” Gunther asked quietly, never taking her eyes off Lee’s. “So if this one life could manage to live beyond the reach of both -”

“Enough, love.” Lee shifted the baby to her shoulder, and patted firmly on their tiny back. “Thank you for your consideration, but this is beyond that. It’s a baby, and we’re two loving, potential parents. It’s a simple matter. Leave it so.”

Gunther drew her gaze away, and Lee turned to stare into empty space. The baby, unperturbed, eventually gave a throaty belch. Lee gingerly swaddled the infant in gentle pelts, quietly crooning all the while. The awkward atmosphere was quickly dispelled within moments. After a moment of consideration, Gunther approached her wife with a newfound smile on her face.

The two women gazed down at the tiny life, which when bundled so thoroughly, didn’t resemble much more than a loaf of bread. Lee spoke, “We still have to think of a name.”

 _It’s an act of commitment, but probably one late in the making,_ Gunther thought. “You think of one. You’d know all the elven names.”

“It doesn’t have to be elven. Or human. Some names aren’t exclusive to one or the other.”

“Oh? You know of any names like so?”

Lee paused. “Well, there’s my own name. Off the top of my head, there’s also names like … Ascal. Esther. Er … Lilith … Merne. And perhaps a few others.”

The baby remained still during the recite, their eyes glimmering wetly in the mid-morning light.

“It’s a miracle they came to us at all, isn’t it?” Gunther supplied. “What’s a name that means ‘miracle’, or something akin?”

Lee gave a tired laugh. “I don’t exactly have a supply of names on hand. Or a dictionary, for that matter. I’ve just been calling it ‘honey’ in my head. And don’t laugh,” Lee added, upon hearing Gunther’s snort.

“Sweet as honey, and just as hardy,” Gunther mocked, only half-joking. “It fits.”

“As a nickname, perhaps. We are not calling our only child after a condiment.”

“Anything for you, darling.” The baby’s eyes drifted to a close.

—

Nine months later, ‘honey’ waddled their way through the neighboring soft, grassy plains. They had grown abnormally fast, with enough fine motor control fit for a baby twice their age. Their hair, once nothing more than a flat coverage of delicate swirls upon the crown of their head, now hung in rivets of dark red sprouts that curled around their ears. They wore a grey dress tunic and a pair of worn wollen socks, which got steadily dirtier as they gleefully trotted their way through the autumn vegetation.

Lee’s voice rang from the near distance, but ‘honey’ paid no attention, continuing their little adventure in traveling few meters from the front door. Lee had placed ‘honey’ down for a brief moment as she prepared to take down the wash, and the toddling had seized the opportunity to clamber down the few wooden steps and into precious freedom.

They cackled the whimsical laugh of an infant, wobbling as fast as their stocky little legs could carry them. The crisp wind carried fallen leaves amongst the streams of pale white sunlight.

After a brief moment of toddlering, ‘honey’ felt a strange presence upon the surface of their skin. They abruptly stopped in their tracks, and their upset balance sent themselves into a sitting plop. A slight reverberation rang through the air yet again, dancing across their arms and back.

‘Honey’ jerked their head side to side, trying to spot visual evidence of the strange activity. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but they felt the pulse yet again. And once more. 

Something about the pulses seemed so familiar to the babe. It drew non-memories of safe darkness, and warmth. And it also plucked at something deeper within them, like fingers picking at harpstrings. After a few seconds of searching spent in vain, ‘honey’ felt their ire rise and let tears fall. A heartbroken wail drew the attention of Lee, who quickly ran to ‘honey’s’ side and scooped them up.

Hidden within the trees, a cloaked figure watched as the woman carried the distraught child back within the hut. His hand absently twisted and turned, emitting tiny ribbons of color - the closest thing to interacting with his child as he dared try. Despite the baby long being brought inside, it was many minutes before the figure walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how long this story'll be. 'Honey' will eventually get caught up in both Solas and Lavellan's shenanigans, and will stay a child for the majority of the time.


	4. In Spirit's Watchful Eye

A pip-pattering of a toddler's fat little paws was the only warning Lee and Gunther received before the alley between the two women's bodies were filled with the addition of a warm weight as 'honey' threw themselves upon the bed. Outside, the early-morning sky was still dark as night, with only a tinge of pink on the horizon. Too early for the women, but unfortunately that sentiment was not shared by their enthusiastic eleven-month old child. Gunther gave a wavering groan as she turned on her side, muttering something about how her old bones couldn't take punishment like they used to. Lee remained still, valiantly ignoring the maverick baby jammed into her side.

'Honey', not to be ignored for long, crawled their way up the bed, and laid themselves face-to-face with Lee, who kept her eyes closed. 'Honey' stroked and gently jabbed at Lee's brown cheek, warm from sleep. "Mam. Mam. Can we wake up?" they whispered. "Mam. Mam."

"Mmph." Lee's brows furrowed in distaste. 'Honey' poked at the ridges between her eyebrows, feeling the perked skin slightly cave under their fingers.

"Mam, can we wake up? Mammy. Mammy. Wake up?"

"Mmmm-alright, you little imp," Lee moaned, swatting at the tiny hands that prodded at her face. "Lee' me 'lone. 'M up."

'Honey' grinned, and scampered off the bed. It looked to be a promising, cool summer day for all three.  As soon as breakfast was served and devoured, 'Honey' planned to spend the daylight hours exploring the woods behind the cottage. They hoped to find some mushrooms, and bring them back to be incorporated into tonight's dinner. Both Lee and Gunther would coo at any of 'Honey's' fortunate findings, and they always strove to please the two women. Perhaps later, Gunther would take 'Honey' to go wading for crawfish.

'Honey' loitered in their tiny nursery, tinkering with small wooden figurines and plush toys. Heavy footsteps indicated that either Lee or Gunther had finally dragged themselves out of bed, and were beginning to cook breakfast. Over the past few months, both women had doted upon 'Honey' with a steady stream of hand-crafted toys; a pair of carved horses, wooden soldiers, and a floppy, cloth sewn wolf 'Honey' had dubbed 'radish' after having a sampling of creamed horseradish the evening they were gifted the toy. 'Honey' had screwed up their face and retched dramatically at the powerful burning upon their tongue, making both women laugh. After a few seconds of red-faced coughing, 'Honey' sniffed wetly and had asked for more. 

Also in 'Honey's' possession was a bag of large, glass marbles in a wide variety of colors that Gunther had purchased from a traveling peddler. Lee had decided upon a few sticks of incense, a wooden box of candles, and a stab of soap from the peddler's wares, and Gunther had eyed the bag of glass marbles. Upon determining that they weren't small enough to be accidentally swallowed, she gave them to 'Honey' as a surprise gift. They'd nearly gone ballistic from overenthusiastic, childlike joy.

The most impressive thing to 'Honey's' name was a sizable stack of parchment scrolls sitting in a haphazard pile in a corner, along with an empty tobacco box that housed a few sticks of charcoal. Paper was hard to come by for the family, who lived miles from a town that didn't naturally export any paper-related goods due to the lack of good lumber in the surrounding flora. 'Honey' had recently developed the habit of marking the hut's interior walls with ink, dirt, and other ... stains. In a minor stroke of inspiration, Lee ordered a delivery of cheap drafting paper to be delivered, and also baked multiple sticks of charcoal. 'Honey' quickly limited their doodling to the paper, and charcoal stains proved easy to clean and wipe away.

It was on such a paper that 'Honey' spent their morning, smudging the yellowed, fabric-like material with multiple stripes of black. As they worked their masterpiece, Lee boiled a pot of oats, and broke four eggs in a dish. Gunther stumbled into the kitchen not long after, and made a strong cup of black tea. Lee reached over and gave a small kiss to the tired woman's cheek, and Gunther grunted in appreciation.

"It's been years since I've been able to drag myself out of bed on the crack of dawn," Gunther griped. "So I see you'll cover the job for me."

Lee simply laughed and served breakfast upon the table. 'Honey' arrived with wordless acknowledgement, and all three dined together. As they had many mornings before.

This morning differed, however. A sudden knock on the front door startled the two women, and 'Honey' froze. In all their living memory, 'Honey' had never experienced a visitor that had arrived this early in the day. They immediately became visibly nervous. 

Lee reached over to soothe the startled baby's nerves, as Gunther approached the door and opened to a young man dressed in sturdy traveling clothes and armed with a dagger. The two women instantly recognized him, and all three entered familiar conversation.

"Our package's been sitting in the dark for months, now. We'll need to facilitate delivery soon, or it'll start collecting dust," the boy said without a single hello or good morning.

Gunther didn't hesitate. "Imagine it'll take quite a few hands to move this package, due to its size."

"Our mutual friend can worry about that. Your job is to do your taxes. Which are overdue." And with that, the boy held out a bundle of papers tied together with twine. Gunther took it, and the boy gave a curt nod. In that moment, he finally turned his head and spotted the toddler sitting in a wooden high chair, at the end of the dining table. His face slid from a forced nonchalance to a comically dumbfounded stare. Lee, who hadn't reacted to this whole exchange until this moment, gave a throaty laugh at the courier's reaction. 

"We've had package problems ourselves, as you can see."

"Yeah ... I ... suppose I can." the boy replied in a wavering tone. 'Honey' stared right back at the boy with a vigor, seemingly demanding what he thought of the whole business. Before the children could get caught up in an important staring contest, Gunther said loudly, "Thank you for your business, good morning and have a safe trip."

"Oh!" The courier snapped out of his reverie and inclined his head briefly at Gunther before stepping back outside. "Yes, madam. And to you."

Gunther watched the courier begin his journey back to the port, then closed the door and began pulling at the twine. At first glance, the bundle seemed to consist of multiple folded letters, sealed with wax stamps, tied together in a thick, brick-like stack. However, Gunther tugged loose at the last string to reveal that the 'papers' were in fact a single piece of parchment, cleverly folded to resemble a pile of letters. In the middle of the large paper was a tiny message. Gunther skimmed it quickly, folded the whole thing up, and tossed the whole thing into the hearth where it went up in flames.

'Honey' watched the paper curl and turn black to ashen grey in the fire, as the two women talked business over their head. "... it's around the time of year anyways. We'd have to make the trip sooner or later."

"But there's Honey to think about. They're much too young for traveling that distance. Maybe we should put it off."

"They're old enough to make the trip. It's nothing more than a day's worth of walking in broad daylight. And the city's safe enough, isn't it?"

"That's what you think. You spend the evenings asleep in the inn. I'm the one that traverses the dark alleys and low slums. If those scum knew we had a baby with us-"

"Then we make sure they don't know," Lee retorted as she wiped at 'Honey's' mouth with a handkerchief, which had become coated with sticky oats. "Besides, I hardly think you're going to be bringing Honey with you on your outings. They'll be staying with me."

Gunther sucked on her lower lip as she carefully considered the options. "... we'll decide later. Anyways, I had planned to take Honey berry picking today."

'Honey' perked up at that, and Gunther smiled lovingly. 

\---

The alpine woods that encircled behind the cottage contained a multitude of wildlife and vegetation. When the two women lived alone, Gunther would snag the odd rabbit, ferret, and beyond for the two of them. Herds of deer traversed regularly through the trees, and many game birds lived both in the grass plains, and in the branches of the trees. Gunther would return with the spoils, and Lee would salt and keep the meat. With the addition of 'Honey', both Gunther and Lee picked up their hunting schedule, and also roped a couple wild rabbits to breed.

They had entertained the idea of purchasing a goat for the butter and cheese, but when 'Honey' proved to be sensitive to milk, they had decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Gunther had one day told 'Honey' to never admit that their parents hunted freely in the forest. 'Honey' asked why the deception, and Gunther simply replied that the Governor didn't allow just anyone to kill the land's animals, and you needed special permission to do so. Permission that they didn't have.

Nearby also ran a sizable stream that traveled south from the ocean. There, the family could net fish and also harvest sugar beets. It was there that Gunther took 'Honey', where usually a few small bushes of blackberries clustered. Indeed, when they arrived, there was a surprisingly large splattering of red-green blackberry bushes that dotted low near the riverbank. 'Honey' cheered in relief, and Gunther supplied 'Honey' with a child-sized basket. The berries were sweet from the river, and warmed from the bright sun.

'Honey' diligently picked at the bushes, even risking the odd prick of a thorn. Gunther stayed nearby, humming softly as she also worked upon filling her (considerably larger) basket. The two casually hopped from bush to bush, occasionally sampling a berry or two along the way.

Eventually, the two found themselves a slight distance apart, having taken opposite routes at one point during their berry harvesting. Gunther knelt facing the river, expertly plucking at a bush, while 'Honey' ventured further back into the shadowy enclave of the roofed forest. Their basket was nearly full, but someone caught up in the meditative process of berry picking sometimes had trouble knowing when to stop. 'Honey' inched their way down the side of a bush, head bent and eyes completely focused upon their task. So it took a while for 'Honey' to notice the large, black wolf that sat staring just a few feet away.

'Honey' froze mid-pick, their eyes wide. They had seen wolves before, at a far distance, and was told that the animals were dangerous and not to be provoked. Unfortunately, young 'Honey' wasn't exactly sure what 'provoking' consisted of, and had no idea how to react to such a beast so near. They slowly retracted their hand, never taking their eyes off the wolf.

Had 'Honey' known better, they'd quickly realize that this was no ordinary wolf; it was far too big, for one, and had unnaturally black eyes. The black fur shimmered color in the light as it shifted, like the iridescence of a beetle. Where shadow fell upon the beast, it looked black as ink. Where light shone, the fur danced like waterweed under a soft current. 

Seconds passed, and both the wolf and child remained still. Then, with a flick of its bushy tail, the wolf stepped its way towards 'Honey', and its paws made nary a sound upon the forest floor.

'Honey', while on edge, did not fear the beast as it towered over 'Honey' a full five feet standing up. The wolf's eyes had a calm, soft look to them, and nothing in its posture emitted any aggression or cause for alarm. It settled upon its belly and leaned its enormous snout down to meet 'Honey's' gaze. 

Out of pure, childlike instinct, 'Honey' reached into their basket, gingerly grasped a handful of blackberries, and held it out. The wolf responded by softly licking the berries into its mouth, leaving 'Honey's' palm slightly cold and wet. 'Honey' retaliated by immediately reloading their hand with more berries and offered once again, all the while wide-eyed with bemusement. The wolf took them just like before.

This continued five more times, until the wolf paused in its licking to softly maw on the berries accumulated within its mouth. 'Honey' reached out their hand and touched the bridge of its snout. It was warm and solid under their palm. From the close proximity, 'Honey' could smell a strange musk from the beast, something reminiscent of an underground well; wet, rich earth, clean water, and salty stone. 

The wolf gazed silently as 'Honey' continued to stroke its black fur. They reached further up and pet the longer, softer hairs in between the eyes, making them flutter briefly and twitch the ears. 'Honey's entire body probably spanned the entirety of the wolf's enormous head.

For an enchanting few minutes, both wolf nor child saw nothing but the other. Then, the wolf stood up and walked past 'Honey', who felt the receding warmth of its body as it left. Before it disappeared into the nearby shadows, it looked back one last time. And with a flick of its tail, it was gone.

Reality slowly crept back into 'Honey's' senses as they again became aware of the twittering birds and the crunch of leaves underneath their feet. Gunther’s voice rang in the near distance.

‘Honey’ ran back to their mother, their basket carefully tucked under an arm. “I saw a demon, mamma.”

“Oh? Did you now?” Gunther humored them.

‘Honey’ nodded, but didn’t elaborate. The day’s events had left them slightly worn out, and they were in need of a nap. Gunther, noticing the lack of energy, swept ‘Honey’ into her arms and started back home. That evening, after Lee had boiled down the berries into jam, ‘Honey’ slept peacefully and dreamt of large, ephemeral wolves with black eyes and dancing fur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Honey' will have a real name, but it won't come up until later.


	5. Journey's First Step

Four days later, and ‘Honey’ was woefully lost in the unfamiliar countryside.

The family had started their trek to the coast early that morning. Lee had rented a small wagon pulled by donkey, where they housed their packs and had ‘Honey’ sit for the journey. For the first few hours, nothing eventful occurred. Gunther walked in front, Lee kept point at the back, and ‘Honey’ munched on some wrapped cakes sitting in the cart.

By mid-morning, the family reached a soldier’s outpost. Both Gunther and Lee had passed this point many times before, and the regular guards had them recognized by sight. This time, the post was occupied by an unfamiliar squad, and was led by a captain that seemed much too young for the position.

“Papers,” he demanded gruffly. Gunther handed over two folded parchments that lauded the two women as citizens of the county. The captain handed the papers over a nearby scribe, who examined the lettering and material carefully. Meanwhile, two soldiers peered and prodded at the cart, one even jamming the point of his sword into a knapsack.

“Leave off!” Lee scolded the soldier. ‘Honey’ jumped at the edge in her voice. The soldier glared at Lee, and switched his gaze to focus upon the toddler sitting in the cart.

“And who’s this?”

“Her name is Lee,” Gunther replied from the front of the cart. “Named after her mother.”

The captain heard her, and circled his way around the cart to glare suspiciously at the child. “That’s an elf waif.” 

“Yes.” Lee tightly gripped the wooden arms of the cart.

“And they’re yours?”

“No, we found the poor thing abandoned a year ago. We’ve cared for them ever since.”

“I know what happens when elves carry with them babies,” the captain murmured, slowly stepping towards the cart. With an armored hand, he took off his visor helmet to better evaluate the infant. 

Gunther stepped forward. “If you’ve any doubts about the child, keep them to yourself. Just leave us to pass this point unmolested.”

The captain narrowed his eyes at the human woman, and turned his back to Lee. “And I take your word for it that this child is indeed yours?”

“Yes. You shall.”

A pause, and the captain merely shook his head, dismissively waving a hand at the scribe to return the papers. Gunther ungraciously snatched the papers back, and the family stormed their way past the checkpoint. They continued in a disgruntled silence for a while, while ‘Honey’ squirmed awkwardly in the tense atmosphere.

Eventually, Lee spoke. “… he never even thought to talk to me.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Gunther said, not looking back.

“If I was a human woman, that debacle wouldn’t have happened. They only addressed you, because -“

“Lee,” Gunther sighed, “Is now the time?”

“If Honey was a human baby, we might have been detained under suspicion for kidnapping. If we were both elven, and Honey was not, we’d probably been killed. Gunther, this is how _it is._ ”

“I am trying to calm down from what just happened, and you wanna start this now? Please, Lee. Let’s just focus on getting to that city. Honey’s fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine.” Gunther quickened her pace. “Just let it go. At least for now?” She threw a single look over her shoulder.

Lee kept her gaze low and didn’t answer. Gunther sighed and turned away. ‘Honey’ looked back and forth between the two women, and whined. In response, Lee half-heartedly stroked the nape of ‘Honey’s’ neck.

The cold silence remained until a sudden herd of bucks descended upon them a half hour later. The two women heard a distant rumbling from the woods nearby, and Gunther froze in nervous anticipation. There was no warning before a loud, rushing sound announced the arrival of a 700-pound elk that dived barreling, almost right into Gunther.

With a strangled cry, Gunther fell away in shock. Lee readied her bow and arrow, but a second elk raced straight into the cart, and a loud *bang* resonated as the force cracked the wooden cart into two.

The donkey panicked and took off, dragging the front half of the cart with it. ‘Honey’ toppled backwards into the ground, and was almost stamped to death by a passing elk. 

Lee screamed in fear, throwing away her bow in desperation. The herd was coming in earnest now, and there was nothing the family could do except attempt to run to safety and escape the stampede. ‘Honey’, paralyzed with fear, cried loudly as their surroundings were taken up by a hurricane of stampeding hooves and clouds of dust. Over the chaos, Lee sobbed, Gunther yelled. 

There was a thud and a grunt. ‘Honey’ caught a glimpse though the legs of elk that Gunther had collapsed heavily to the floor. They immediately made a beeline towards the woman. “Honey, no!” Lee cried from somewhere behind them, but they continued forwards. Blood poured down Gunther's head, but she sat up and looked as lucid as ever. With a gasp, Gunther saw ‘Honey’ try to make their way to her.

“Don’t! Stay back! Stay still!” Gunther flailed in a panic. She quickly tried to get to her feet, but was knocked aside once again. 

“HONEY!!” Lee wailed over the din. 

Blinded by tears and deafened by the noise, ‘Honey’ screamed in a blind panic as chaos reigned around them. An approaching buck stormed its way right into ‘Honey’s’ line of sight. 

But with a sudden pull, Gunther snatched the child by the scruff of their shirt right before hooves could crush them. With one hand, Gunther pulled at the reigns of the donkey that she’d managed to snatch before it could escape. She tossed the child upon the broken remains of the cart still attached to the donkey, releasing the reins to do so. The donkey immediately took off, carrying ‘Honey’ with it. 

The two women screamed ‘Honey’s’ name as the donkey, cart, and child escaped into the woods beyond. ‘Honey’ cried back, terrified, their parents and the stampede quickly receding into the distance.

—

After what seemed like hours, the donkey finally stilled at a small stream to drink. ‘Honey’ sobbed as they quickly hopped off the broken cart, and tumbled into the dirt. They remained face-down upon the ground as sobs racked their tiny body. The donkey, seemingly unperturbed, drank its fill and wandered away, leaving ‘Honey’ alone.

Eventually, ‘Honey’ cried their fill and raised their head to inspect their surroundings. Everything was unfamiliar. Even the trees were foreign from what surrounded their cottage back home. And with that realization, a defibrillating wave of homesickness swept over them, bringing tears anew. ‘Honey’ tilted their head and wailed loudly. 

The sun had begun to set. Had plans gone to the letter, the family would have been approaching the city’s gates at this point. ‘Honey’ could feel the air grow slightly colder as night crept closer. They knew they were in deep danger, but had no idea how to proceed from where they stood. 

Disasters often bring out the worst in people. And they can also draw out inner reservoirs of courage. ‘Honey’ screamed and sobbed for a long while, completely overwhelmed by the severity of the situation. But after getting their tears out, they found themselves calmer, and more ready to take action. It was now twilight, but ‘Honey’ bravely stood from their spot, looked around, and chose to walk towards where they thought the trees looked thinner.

The ground was covered with steep, twisted roots and sharp bushes, so ‘Honey’ could only travel a short distance before they had to stop and rest. They didn’t stop walking under it became nearly pitch black. Moonlight didn’t breach the thick forest roof, and there was no other source of lamination nearby. ‘Honey’ slowly groped the nearby area, and eventually found the wall of a stone alcove. They sat themselves on this spot.

Night brought a chilly air. Outside the walls of the fire-warmed cottage, ‘Honey’ shivered and rubbed at their arms. They vaguely remember Lee (or perhaps it was Gunther?) teaching ‘Honey’ the importance of making a fire when spending a night out-of-doors. But they didn’t teach ‘Honey’ how to make one. They knew it required a sharp flint to make sparks, and some material to serve as tinder. But the one time they tried to make do with the flint that sat upon the mantlepiece, they had produced nothing after multiple tries.

The night was surprisingly quiet. The wind occasionally shook the trees, and ‘Honey’ thought they could perhaps hear some crickets in the din. Otherwise, it was silent, and almost completely pitch black.

Too young to be completely at odds with the dark, ‘Honey’ wasn’t overly frightened by the isolation. And after a while, their eyes dropped closed, the excitement of the day catching up to them. 

—

Rays of brilliant yellow sunlight rose ‘Honey’ from their sleep. Along with the soft rise and fall of a warm presence as it breathed softly next to their face, fur tickling their cheek.

‘Honey’ turned to see a familiar black wolf lying beside them, its head nestled upon crossed paws. They shifted, and the wolf immediately turned to face them. It had the same calm presence of their last encounter. ‘Honey’, still drowsy from spending a night upon a forest bed, plucked themselves just enough to reorient their head to rest upon the warm creature’s fur. The wolf curled into itself, and used its lips to nip gently at ‘Honey’s’ head, something paramount to a kiss.

So close to the beast, ‘Honey’ could see the individual rivets of colored shine that danced across the iridescent black fur. The huge wolf curled its head closer, slightly enveloping ‘Honey’s' head and shoulders within the warm fluff of its own flank. It shifted its front leg so that more of ‘Honey’s’ body was cradled. The wolf continued to muzzle at ‘Honey’s’ cold forehead. 

“Can you help me find my mommy?” ‘Honey’ murmured, voice cracked from misuse. One hand stroked at the wolf.

The wolf didn’t acknowledge the plea. It continued to groom the child, seemingly unaware or unable to communicate with them. 'Honey’ repeated the question, and it was likewise ignored. 

Still, at least they weren’t alone anymore, ‘Honey’ thought to themselves. Nothing could feasibly stand to be a threat so long as they stayed with the company of this giant wolf. Perhaps the wolf would accompany them as they tried to find their way back home.

“Did you like the berries?” ‘Honey’ tried asking. Again, the question was ignored. The wolf now sniffed at ‘Honey’s’ stomach, burying its nose into their abdomen. 

“Mam made jam with the berries I brought home. I ate some of that jam yesterday. With the cake.”

The wolf gave a snort. 

“Then mamma hang up the picture I made for her. It’s in the sitting room now, above the fire. I made it a picture of myself singing. She said it was very good.”

‘Honey’ nuzzled their face within the black fur. “I wanna go home, wolf,” she moaned quietly, slightly muffled. “I hope momma and mam are ok.”

With a sudden scoop of its giant maw, the wolf raised ‘Honey’s’ light body to bodily rest upon its shoulder blades. It stood and began to walk, ‘Honey’ riding on its back.

‘Honey’ gave a light _gasp_ at the movement, but quickly adjusted to the new position. They gripped their fists within its black fur, and let the wolf lead them onwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally picking up!


	6. First Blood

The Crossroads were not the Fade itself, but it rang close. There was atmosphere and gravity enough for living creatures, but it felt manufactured. Boxed. Rather than feel like it spawned naturally from the world. The air felt as if imported, and seems to hover millimeters from the skin. Light didn’t originate from any known sun or source of flame, but spread liberally across the dimension nevertheless. Although the Crossroads were a peak of magical creation and genius, it was a space that nearly felt unnatural to the point of discomfort. 

Resources were not unlimited here. Although some could be duplicated and transmuted, many physical objects have to be brought from the physical plane and into the Crossroads. The basic skeleton of buildings must have a source of brick and mortar to start with, and plants need a seed to sprout from. Over the centuries, small ecosystems have been created and survived within the Crossroads, some running wild from the neglect. 

Only a few things spawn naturally in the Crossroads. Space, for example, is unlimited. The Crossroads span an infinity in empty space, in every direction. Another is (inexplicably) water, which for some reason, runs freely across some parts of the Crossroads, with no viable source ever found. In this unlimited space, ancient Elvhenan boasted thousands of settlements and a steady civilization of people who permanently lived in this non-world that existed between worlds. 

After the calamity, the Crossroads were shaken to tatters. The snap of Fen’Harel’s Veil as it bloomed into creation had rattled the Crossroads like lightning splitting a mountain peak. Technology lost its power sourcing, buildings were toppled, and chaos and destruction had occurred almost instantaneously. With the Veil, time was born, along with deterioration and decay. 

The Crossroads was not the material world, which feels the full brunt of time. And it was not the Fade, in which time still doesn’t affect. Time within the Crossroads is like an oily film rather than a solid slab of a concept - still present, but flimsy and malleable. Some things age as they should, some don’t, and some deteriorate at an unpredictable rate. 

Solas stood on a broken stone bridge, looking over the technicolor horizon. He remembered that this stone bridge once connected two estates together. On one end, the building still stood. On the other, the manor had completely disappeared, leaving an empty abyss where a home once existed. The manor still intact had been repurposed into a small dwelling, and Solas had spent the last few months there. It may have once been the home of a scientist, or perhaps a research facility. The remaining decor and furniture was too frugal to have belonged to a noble, but the house itself was frivolous enough to not have belonged to any commoner or servant.

After the Inquisition disbanded, Solas had immediately retreated to the Crossroads and began his following there. Only when invaders threatened the sanctity of both his Crossroads and Lavellan’s organization did he find the need to leave. And after that point, he returned to the Crossroads and remained. His influence spread far across the physical plane, hidden within the shadows, but he himself stayed stowed in the broken ruins of the Eluvians. 

The second time he had left, it was to deliver life. He stayed in the physical plane for almost a year, watching from afar to make sure nothing drastic happened. The baby quickly grew into their makeshift family, and with no reason left to doubt, Solas left once again. 

He had not made contact with his child since. If he chose to, he could reach across the Fade and touch upon the dreams of his child, maybe exchange a few words of affection, but he dare not. He had practical reasons for avoiding contact; risking his identity would overcomplicate and possibly ruin plans in the making, even if it was only exposed to a child merely a year old. It would endanger the child, the two women, and possibly other lives in the resulting crossfire. 

In his less practical mind, he also feared confronting the child that he had selfishly abandoned. His spawn was a living embodiment of the life he could have had, given a face and voice. 

It was almost too painful to think about, much less see.

He still had dusty memories of being a boisterous young genius who’s only concern was seeking the next short-lived excitement. But his passion had gotten the better of him, and he found himself abandoning the life of the miscreant and instead chose the soldier’s path. His fire fueled his dedication to his Mistress, shaving off any remaining innocence he once had. War and magefire forged him into who he was now. 

Solas had made many mistakes in his life. But having a child was the first time he had chosen something that directly disrupted his plans and ideals, and not regret a second of it.

Solas gave a small smile. Perhaps a bit of his moral, innocent self yet remained, if he could still love irrationally.

—

The hem of ‘Honey’s' cloak was dampened from the stream water, and their feet swelled from the coldness, but the child payed no mind as they skillfully herded crawfish to be made into tonight’s evening meal. After many hours of walking, the wolf had carried ‘Honey’ away from the woods and into a clearing, where a clear, bubbling stream ran through. ‘Honey’ had slept upon the wolf’s back for a good portion of the journey, and re-awoken around midday. The walk was uneventful, the wolf patient and gentle with the baby upon its shoulder blades. Even dutifully stopping the many times ‘Honey’ had to relieve themselves.

Eventually, the wolf led the two of them into a small, circular clearing where an abandoned shack stood near the stream bank. It parked itself near the doorway, and ‘Honey’ took the cue to hop off and explore the surroundings. The shack was mostly empty aside from a few empty hemp sacks, rotting wooden barrels, and a torn coin purse. Shallow imprints of adult footsteps dotted the ashen floor, but everything was coated in a thick layer of dust; nobody had been inside the shack for a long while.

With one hand, ‘Honey’ taunted a crawfish that roamed the river floor. When the crawfish enviably shot itself backwards and away from the hand, ‘Honey’ used a small pint barrel, held behind the creature, to catch the crawfish. Upon successful capture, ‘Honey’ waded back to the riverbank to deposit the crawfish into a larger barrel, along with their other spoils. Within less than an hour, the barrel was half-full with squirming crawfish, and ‘Honey’s’ spirits had greatly lifted from the activity.

The wolf had sat and watched ‘Honey’ all the while, only shifting itself to perhaps stretch, or getting up to drink at the stream. ‘Honey’ exited the river one last time, and their expression melted from joy to disappointment; to cook the crawfish, they’d need a fire. And ‘Honey’ still had no idea how to make one.

‘Honey’ bravely pushed down the build of an incoming tantrum and resolved themselves to at least try. They set the barrel of crawfish inside the shack, and went to gather wood. The clearing boasted multiple fallen trees and dry shrubs, so after a few trips back and forth, ‘Honey’ had made a modest triangular pile of twigs and dry bark, set downwind near the wall of the hut. As ‘Honey’ arranged a few dry pine needles for kindling, the Wolf approached and contributed two large log segments that would have been too heavy for ‘Honey’ to carry. Using its large mouth, it gingerly placed the wood so that they leaned opposite each other upon the pile.

‘Honey’ sat still, trying to decide their next step. They briefly entertained the notion of finding a few flat stones from the riverbank and trying to create some sparks, but they knew that their meager strength couldn’t possibly produce the necessary friction. After a few seconds, the wolf nudged its cold nose against ‘Honey’s’ right hand, and gently wrapped its giant lips around their palm so that half of the appendage rested within the wolf’s mouth.

‘Honey’ gasped as they felt a brief, sharp pain prickle their ring finger, and when the wolf reopened its mouth, they immediately withdrew themselves to see a single trickle of blood drip from a small puncture near the fingernail. 

The wolf again nudged at ‘Honey’s’ arm so that the finger was held above the wood pile, and inhaled deeply. ‘Honey’ felt a strange tautness drag itself across the both of them, like a bowstring pulled tight. And when the wolf let out a steady breath, the bowstring was released in a ripple of power, while simultaneously a droplet of blood fell from ‘Honey’s’ finger and onto the wood. It briefly sizzled and emitted smoke where it landed.

With a _whoosh_ , the entire pile of wood burst into flame, enveloping the area with warmth and soft orange light. ‘Honey’ gave a cry of joy, and ran to get the barrel of crawfish. The wolf simply laid itself back down near the newly-made fire. By twilight, ‘Honey’ had speared and roasted a large collection of crawfish and ate themselves reasonably full. Several times, they attempted to feed the wolf, but it never raised its head to accept the hot food.

Nightfall quickly came, and the wolf got up to push and usher ‘Honey’ into the dark hut. They were reluctant to end this exciting day, so it took some doing. Eventually, ‘Honey’ was cradled within the warmth of the wolf’s side yet again.

‘Honey’ sucked absently on their injured finger, dozing. With their other hand, they blindly groped for the wolf’s left paw, but only found more fur. Through the cracks of the hut’s roof, pale white moonlight shone in rivets, and both child and wolf watched dust swim through the rays as ‘Honey’ dropped off to sleep once again.

—

Miles away, two women ran themselves haggard through the city’s lowlife, scrounging up every old contact and deal that they could manage in an attempt to find their missing child. Due to the cloudy circumstances, no one knew where to start looking, and progress was painfully slow. One contact was a proficient elven thief, who was new to working with the women, but had years of reputable experience.

Upon hearing that their child had gone missing due to a freak stampede, the elf was briefly stunned into silence before quickly accepting the job and scurrying away. They headed into the woods with the presence of finding their child.

But once alone, the elf took out a folded square piece of red paper, a brush, and a cake of black ink. They painted a single character upon the paper, which was arranged to stand upon a corner so the paper resembled a standing jewel shape. Upon finishing the character, the elf struck a tinderbox and burned the makeshift seal within their own hand.

As soon as the ashes hit the forest floor, the Crossroads trembled with the rage of the Dread Wolf upon realizing that someone had dared to come between him and his child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I called the the red paper that the elf burned a 'seal', like the kind you've probably seen in Asian fantasy media. But it's actually more similar to paper money offerings. A seal would have had its power so long as it was intact. The elf was burning paper 'money' that would be sent to the gods. I'm gonna have to do the same thing myself, once the Lunar New Year rolls around in a few weeks lmao.


	7. Storm Front

Strong surges of emotion within the Crossroads do not go unnoticed by the Fade. Spirits circled and crackled in the vast magical landscape, which in turn affected the waking world. People everywhere began to have odd dreams of approaching doom, and pale white faces with stormy eyes. Thedas was also engulfed in a thunderstorm front, and the sky was locked into a state of dreary grey. Although the clouds were heavy and the pressure spoke of a large storm upon the horizon, the rain never fell. It was as if the entire world inexplicably stood upon the edge of a precipice, or within the eye of a hurricane.

It left the people of Thedas in a minor panic. Ever since the Breach, the world had spent the past few years in varying levels of recovery, and the unnatural air ruffled frazzled nerves. No one knew for sure if the situation foretold some future additional catastrophe. Some claimed the current trends an unforeseen side-effect of the Breach. Others believed it to be a simple coincidence. The matter became of government priority as countries everywhere brought in experts to study this strange trend of nightmares and bad weather in anticipation of predicting another disaster before it began.

While Thedas steadily grew more and more uneasy, Solas violently stomped up and down his ramshackle study huddled deep within the Crossroads. Back and forth, from one end to another, gesturing wildly and muttering to thin air. He wore no armor or fancy dress and instead just simple cloth, and the floor was dotted with various papers and piles of books. Glowing wisps, drawn to his emotions, darted around him like moths to a flame.

He knew the effect of his behavior and how it’d influence the waking world, but he was much too upset to care. His control over the Crossroads meant that the entire region was intricately tied to his own spirit. It acted like a pool of water; he would cause ripples how he wished. But consequently, the water reflected Solas as well. And because of its close proximity to both worlds, any ripples within the Crossroads affected both the Fade and the waking world. 

There were location that he could escape to, and be free to storm and rage all he wished, but he liked the seclusion of the area. In his heightened state, he couldn’t bear to stow himself within one of the many elven ruins now occupied by him, and find himself surrounded by decaying remains of the Elvhen empire. Within the Crossroads, at least there were less bones under his feet.

With a grunt of frustration, Solas threw himself into a chair, and sat with his head bowed. It was no mere kidnapper or criminal that took his child. Solas’ reach would have made certain it stopped before it began. And it wasn’t any mere magical being or low-life demon, because Solas himself would have stretched across the Fade and prevented any danger. 

All throughout ‘Honey’s’ short life, Solas had been watching. At first, he eyed in person from a short distance. And before he left, he arranged a network of informants who made life easy for the family. All the while, he kept a magical watch over ‘Honey’s’ young consciousness while in the Crossroads.

If someone, or something, had managed to bypass all of that, then it was no simple villain. 

Solas reached down and reviewed his notes for what felt like the tenth time. As far as he could tell, there were no holes in the wards he’d placed, or any feasible gaps in his network that would have posed a threat of this level. He didn’t feel any alien presence within ‘Honey’s’ mind, and he knew of everyone that was aware of his child’s existence. 

Only two people could have possibly overcome Solas’ many guards and shielding. Only two people were clever enough, and also understood Solas’ methods more than anyone ever did. 

One was Mythal, Solas’ Mistress. 

The other was Lavellan.

With a gusty sigh, Solas buried his face into his hands. There existed a simple method to finding the answer. One that he has never done, and once swore to never resort to.

But for the first time in his life, something outweighed his love of free agency.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and drew at the stolen power within him to listen for the dripping echo of the Well of Sorrows.

—

“I don’t understand, little mouse. Where are your parents?”

“They gone,” ‘Honey’ said, looking up at the armored guard. “I didn’t see them for two days.”

The guard’s face was partially obscured by his fur-lined helmet, but his bemusement was clear. ‘Honey’ had arrived at a small settlement after maybe an hour’s worth of walking. They had awoken to an empty hut, with no giant wolf in sight. They were briefly heartbroken by the abandonment, but their growling stomach eventually drove them to leave the small hut and venture onwards. A randomly-chosen direction safely led them to civilization.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re gone?’ Did you get separated?” 

“Momma and mam throw me on the donkey, and then I got lost in a forest, and then the wolf came to save me.” ‘Honey’ stared boldly into the man’s eyes as they narrated their grand adventure. “We ate river-bugs and I set my blood on fire.”

The guard’s eyebrows raised higher and higher with each new bit of information, until they disappeared into his helmet from pure bewilderment. The child is probably delirious and confused, he concluded. 

“Come with me, child.”

“Are you gonna find my momma?”

The guard grasped ‘Honey’s’ hand and turned towards the town. “We’re going to go visit the inn, and I’ll find someone who will search for your parents.”

‘Honey’ knew that an inn held the promise of food, and willingly let themselves be herded into a small, dark hut with plain wooden furniture and straw dotting the walls and ceiling. Only one other table was occupied by two roughly-dressed men, and the bar up front had a single old woman tending some kegs.

The guard bid ‘Honey’ sat down at a table and ordered a plate of coarse, brown bread, accompanied by a handful of nuts and a sliver of cheese. A small mug of milk arrived alongside. It was all the man could afford out of his own pocket, but ‘Honey’ did nary a complaint as they bolted down the meager meal. 

As ‘Honey’ ate, the guard conversed softly with the barwoman, out of ‘Honey’s’ earshot. The woman nodded and turned to peer at the small child, and ‘Honey’ caught her encouraging smile. 

“Strange times we live in. What with the bad dreams everyone’s having, and the stormy sky. Been two days with no rest.” The two men sat near muttered to each other.

“Dandys at the Longhouse claim it no need to worry. Not like anything they’ll say will ease our sleeping minds.”

“It’s the faces that get me, you know? Pale and unnatural-like. Never seen a demon before, but they’re what I’d imagine them to be like.”

One of the men gestured to the barwoman, who scooted herself over and replaced his empty tankard with a full mug of beer. The second man nodded, and replied, “So long as I live, I’ll never forget those faces. Pale skin, and black eyes.”

The barwoman tisked. “Bad luck to be talking ‘bout such things. Best you let things lie while you can.”

‘Honey’ listened nonchalantly as they chomped down their bread. The guard squeezed himself into the chair opposite with his own mug of ale, and silently sipped while eyeing the child with a curious gaze.

“Hey, you think maybe the Breach left something in us?” The man proposed in a timid voice. “Like, when the sky opened up, we all got infected with bad magic? And now it’s all coming to blow?”

“Don’t be thick. It’s been two years, and nothing bad’s happened in all that time,” the other man responded.

“You can still see the scar, if you look closely. Shaped like a glowing green lighting strike. Maybe two years was two years enough.”

The guard noticed ‘Honey’ pause in their meal as they took in the men’s conversation. He leaned forward with a creak, and whispered conspiratorially to them, “Many folk are getting antsy over recent events. Just the feeling in the air, and the bad dreams. It’s like something’s about to happen.”

“What thing?” ‘Honey’ asked.

“No one knows,” the guard took another swig of his beer. “S’what the worry. I can imagine that the nightmares must be especially trying on you, being so little and all.”

‘Honey’ shook their head. “I don’t have bad dreams.”

He furrowed his brow. “Really? Well, good on you.”

Man and child sat in silence for a moment.

“We’re going to the port city and have you stay at a Chantry for now.”

“Ok.”

“It’s going to be alright.”

“Mmm.”

—

Lavellan felt a deep, throbbing, regular pulse that resonated somewhere beyond herself. It grew with each beat like ripples in water. She waited, keeping still, as the pulsing grew faster in pace and closer in rhythm, until it cumulated into a steady held note. A heat grew behind her eyes, and something in her chest scattered to bits like leaves in the wind. A familiar echoing dim filled her ears, but what once was a feminine voice, was now a low, inarticulate growl.

A curtain parted to reveal an enormous presence that existed apart from it all, glowing a deadly pale white, like the glare of a catastrophic heat. Lavellan stood her ground as the presence overtook her mind, blinding her to all else but it.

It bristled. 

**_ You mock me. _ **

She jerked her head, the slightest smirk on her lips.

Silence for a few moments, both Lavellan and the presence not wavering.

The presence stood still as stone and spoke again in a non-voice that rattled Lavellan’s mind.  ** _Where are they?_**

Lavellan didn’t respond, and the presence swelled in a rage. It made her head pound. The invisible chains that bound the both of them seemed to tighten. 

For all the power and knowledge promised of the Well of Sorrows, Lavellan was privy to very little of it. Only twice has it ever relayed information that Lavellan did not know herself. Mostly, it simply existed as a pressurized canister of power that resonated deep within her. It was assumed that, when certain perimeters were met, Lavellan would have access to more of the Well’s potential. That assumption was debunked upon seeing Solas with the tell-tale blue glow in his eyes that once shined within Flemeth. The Well of Sorrows was no longer under Mythal’s hand.

Knowing that her enemy now had control over the Well (and coincidentally, the person who drank from it), Lavellan immediately resorted to hiding the power deep within her, with the desperate hope that Solas would never touch upon the connection that bound the two together. It wasn’t completely unfounded to assume that Solas would never tug on the leash, but it was a vain hope. Lavellan eventually had to accept the possibility for what it was.

The past few years had been hard on her. With the Inquisition disbanded, Lavellan's once-expansive resources dropped one by one, until she was left with barely a fraction of what she had. No advisors, no army, no companions. Lavellan only had Skyhold to her name, and a few agents.

But it was all she needed for now.

She recalled First Enchanter Vivienne once saying, “a leash can be pulled from either end."

So she forced The Dread Wolf to come to her, rather than wait for him to be given any reason. 

But upon realizing that Lavellan wasn’t going to reveal any big secrets, the presence disappeared as quickly as it materialized, twisting away in a fit of disgust. Solas got his answer - Lavellan _knew_.

The giant, black wolf howled in mirth, and Solas’ rage cracked thunder across the sky. "Honey", a mere couple miles away from their mother, watched the sky boil and grow dark as lightning veined its way through the clouds, and listened to the townspeople muttering amongst themselves in hushed tones. On the horizon, the skyline seemed to glow a faint green. And facing opposite of the green glow, seemingly miles above in the sky, was perhaps the slightest tinge of blue dotting the huge thunderclouds. And within the dark inn, 'Honey''s bright red hair gleamed like a jewel in the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might bring in some old faces in the near future. Cole was certainly planned to be taking part, but maybe others as well. Morrigan, probably, with Kieran. And maybe even the Hero of Fereldan.


End file.
